Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [2]
No boy in camp had ever bested Skylan in battle. He’d been so lost in admiration at Aylaen’s spirited attack that he forgot to fight back, and she walked triumphantly off the field, sucking her small bruised knuckles, mantled with the honors of the day.
Two years ago Skylan had told Aylaen that he meant to marry her. True, she had stuck out her tongue and jeered at him, but he was not discouraged. Since that time, he had not slept with another woman. He had made an offer of marriage to her stepfather and Sigurd, after some bargaining, had accepted. Skylan was waiting now only to obtain enough silver to pay Sigurd the bride-price in order to marry her. Marriages were always arranged among the Vindrasi. A woman had the right to refuse a suitor, however, and Aylaen was forever swearing she would never wed him, but she said it in a teasing manner. Skylan was confident she didn’t really mean it. He was the Chief’s son, after all, a valuable catch for any family, as her stepfather well knew.
He should have earned the silver with wealth captured in raids, but things had not gone as planned.
Skylan still considered himself blessed—he was, after all, handsome, strong, healthy, and the most skilled and honored warrior in the clan. But it seemed nothing was going right for him or for the Torgun Clan these days, and Skylan couldn’t understand it. The Torgun had been among the most feared clans of the Vindrasi. In years past, the Torgun’s dragonship, the Venjekar, meaning the Forging, had come back laden with cattle, silver, grain, and the precious jewels demanded by the Dragon Kahg in payment for his services.
Now it seemed the Torgun were cursed.
First there had been the poor harvest, then the unusually cold winter, and now this terrible drought. Raids on their neighbors had not remedied the situation. The Torgun’s neighbors had inexplicably been warned of the coming of the dreaded dragonship, and they’d fled into the hills, taking their treasure and their flocks with them, leaving behind nothing but stray cats and empty iron cooking pots.
Skylan and his warriors were forced to venture into unknown territory, and it seemed their luck had finally turned when they discovered a fat village of fat people and fat cattle. But when Treia, their Bone Priestess, prayed to the Dragon Kahg to join them in battle, the dragon did not answer. Skylan and his fierce band of warriors had not been concerned. They could take this village of blubbery cowards by themselves.
Unfortunately, another group of warriors had also spotted the village. The Venjekar’s lookout had spotted sails numerous as gulls squabbling over a dead fish on the horizon, driving toward them. Skylan had been amazed to recognize the triangular-sailed ships of an ancient foe, the ogres. Considerably outnumbered, Skylan had reluctantly ordered his single dragonship to take to the seas.
He had hated running from a fight, but without their dragon ally, the Torgun could not hope to battle both villagers and the brutish ogres. The faster, lighter Venjekar had skimmed the waves, and they were able to escape before the ogres caught them. Still, no one had celebrated. They had returned home, their ship empty, their warrior souls filled with shame.
“If only the Dragon Kahg had fought for us,” Skylan complained. “We would now be rolling in silver and swimming in cattle. I wonder why the dragon refused to answer Treia’s summons.”
Garn was startled at this sudden change in subject, but he knew how his friend’s mind worked, and thus he managed to make the bounding leap from talking of the gods to discussing the Torgun’s last disastrous raid. He was about to comment, but Skylan didn’t give him a chance.
“I want to go raiding again, but my father will not permit it. Norgaard says that until we know why the gods have turned against us, we will not take to